


forever on my mind.

by katarama



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Future Fic, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek worries about her while she’s away, especially when one of them isn’t with her.  He knows she likes the company on the road, likes taking turns sleeping in the passenger side of Derek’s minivan as much as she likes the feeling of the wind whipping around her as she hugs the tight curve of the road on her motorcycle.  She likes someone with her in the motel room, or in the occasional splurge of a penthouse suite when she finishes a big job.  </p><p>Derek misses her, and he wants her to be back with them just as much as Stiles does.  But he knows there’s nothing to do but wait.  She’ll be there by the end of the day, because she promised, and Braeden always makes good on her promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forever on my mind.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mediumrare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediumrare/gifts).



Derek could feel the storm looming on the horizon without seeing the dark clouds gathering, without seeing the swirl of lilac and deep blue and gray of the sky, the vivid green of the grass.  Derek could feel it in his bones when he shifted, the moisture clinging to his fur, making him feel sticky and claustrophobic.  The breeze from his afternoon run had been a welcome change, whipping through his hair with the distinct sense of promise.  Even in his human skin, it prickled at him, charged with electricity and  _promise_ .

It would make Stiles antsy even on a less important day.  Spring storms have always made him restless, knee bobbing thoughtlessly and fingers tapping with excess energy.  Stiles isn’t used to Midwestern weather, yet, and every time a storm brews, it riles him up.  Even now he’s fidgeting, needing to  _move_  but not wanting to leave the living room.  He taps at his phone, Derek hearing the pads of his fingers thud against the touch screen.  There’s the telltale sigh of impatience, the tang of anxiety and the bitterness of impatience drenching the room.

* * *

 

It’s not all from Stiles.  Derek’s just as impatient, though he has more capability to be still.  Stiles never grew out of it.  Aside from the move, not much has changed at all.  They’re both older now, have 9-5 jobs and a house together, a big lot that Derek bought outright, land hemmed with woods along its edges so Derek has somewhere to go to shift and run.  Their house is small, comparatively, but it’s all they need

It’s big enough for three.  Children aren’t on the near horizon.

Stiles’ leg starts moving, and Derek wants to reach over and place a hand on it, to make Stiles still.  “Nothing,” Stiles says, for the fifth time.  “Still nothing.”

Derek sighs.  “You know she won’t text while she’s driving.  She said she’d be back today, and she’s never wrong.”  This is the third time they’re having this conversation, and the next time Stiles says it, he’s just going to leave it be.  Braeden’s job may be a risk, especially now that she’s starting to get older, but she’s never once promised she’d be home for a while and not pulled through.

“She’s gonna get caught in the storm,” Stiles frets.  “The roads will get slick, and you know she’ll be on the motorcycle, it’s her favorite.”

“She’ll be fine,” Derek reiterates.  

He can understand Stiles’ concern.  He worries about her while she’s away, especially when one of them isn’t with her.  He knows she likes the company on the road, likes taking turns sleeping in the passenger side of Derek’s minivan as much as she likes the feeling of the wind whipping around her as she hugs the tight curve of the road on her motorcycle.  She likes someone with her in the motel room, or in the occasional splurge of a penthouse suite when she finishes a big job.  Derek down on his knees for her in a cramped motel shower isn’t the same as luxuriating together in a perfumed, sudsy bubble bath, kissing long and hard, laughing at the suds that cling to Derek’s stubble, but it means she’s not alone.

Derek misses her, and he wants her to be back with them just as much as Stiles does.  But he knows there’s nothing to do but wait.  She’ll be there by the end of the day, because she promised, and Braeden always makes good on her promises.

* * *

 

Stiles dozes off waiting, and Derek flips on the TV.  Stiles could sleep through just about anything, so Derek isn’t too worried about the noise rousing him.  The wind calms ever so slightly outside, the soft green underbellies of the leaves still exposed, the edges stretched taut.  He can still hear them rustling, and he can tell the heavens are about to open up.  The first pitter-patters of rain hitting the bay window sound loud, even over the laugh track on the sitcom Derek settled for.  Derek’s faith in Braeden is unwavering, and it would be just like her to make an entrance, to come riding through the stormclouds and the pouring rain.  He doesn’t want her coming in with her jeans sopping wet, though, having to be responsible and take care of her bike before she can settle in with the two of them.  Though they know she’ll be home, they don’t know how long she’ll be with them, just that it’ll be ‘for a while’, and that Braeden’s idea of what ‘a while’ is doesn’t always match up with theirs.

Some alone time with Stiles is nice.  They’ve grown comfortable with each other, enough that Scott and Lydia tease Stiles for how domestic he’s become.  Stiles doesn’t seem to mind so much, from the contented smell of him when he’s working in the kitchen with Derek, happiness mixing with the sugar and chocolate and vanilla extracts.  Stiles still has his rough days, days when he wakes up in a cold sweat or when his restlessness drives him to anxiety, to feelings of uselessness and frustration.  Derek appreciates him more, though, and Stiles is better with Derek, less abrasive and deliberately mean.  Actually trusting him and supporting him, respecting the few boundaries he takes seriously.

Things aren’t perfect.  Stiles is never  _calm_ , and he needs lots of mental stimulation, or he turns inward, and doesn’t always like what he sees.  He talks to Marin on Skype once per week; Stiles knows she’s in the loop and can be certain that she’s trustworthy.  Derek heads out to the woods to let him have his space and comes back to a house smelling of exhaustion and relief.

Stiles is helping with the local pack in his spare time, too, as much to try to coax some trust out of them as to deal with his boredom.  They still eye Derek warily sometimes, the beta with the blue eyes who moved in on their territory, clearly bonded to an alpha even halfway across the country.  Derek has no interest in joining their pack, but Stiles has won them over, and Derek doesn’t cause any trouble.  They’ll let him train with them, at least.

Derek has no pressing need to fight, nowadays, but he can never be too careful.  He will never stop being a werewolf, Stiles will never be satisfied leaving problems that are none of his business alone, and Braeden will never give up her job and her security until she knows she’s risking more than she’s gaining.  Derek’s not on hair trigger anymore, no longer always a breath away from fighting to kill, but he keeps in shape, keeps his claws and fangs sharp until the day his loved ones are home safe with him indefinitely.

Someday, they might even go back to Beacon Hills.  A lot of the pack’s still there, though Scott leaving is what tipped the scale for Stiles, convinced him it might do him some good to get away.  Scott’s off with Lydia in Stanford, working at a veterinary clinic while she takes the world by storm.  Or, well, the mathematicians of the world by storm.  But things are quiet back in Beacon Hills, at last.  It’s why Braeden didn’t linger, and it’s why peeled Stiles slowly away on the back of her motorbike.

Things are quiet here in the Midwest, too.  But it’s a willful sort of quiet, the kind that Stiles expected, that he chose because he thought it would be good for Derek.  It isn’t kind of quiet that lends itself to surprises, to attacks neither of them sees coming or to supernatural creatures emerging from the woodworks to concoct evil plans to kill everyone.

The most dangerous person in the entire town is currently a low hum of an engine in the distance, the sound echoing in the woods and scaring away the few birds in the trees.  Derek would know the sound anywhere, can pick it out over the rain and the wind and the thunder.

“Stiles,” Derek says, reaching out to gently place his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and wake him up.  “She’s home.”

* * *

 

“You waited up for me and everything,” Braeden says when she finally comes in through the door to the garage.  Stiles’ eyes are still droopy, though the sight of Braeden is perking him up some.  Derek guarantees that by the time they actually settle in to sleep, Stiles will be wide awake, wanting to talk (or, more likely, wanting to fuck).

“We missed you,” Derek replies.  He knows if Stiles opened his mouth he’d be snappy and sarcastic, and the two of them would be laughing and joking and smiling until Braeden kissed him quiet.  Derek can be like that, too, with them.  But right now he’s caught up in soft, fond feelings, because she’s standing on the doormat in her waterproofed riding boots and the dark green windbreaker she calls a raincoat and only wears when she has to.  She’s home, and Derek  _did_  miss her, and he’s in a place now where he can be open and honest about that.

She strips down to a sleeveless shirt and jeans that are damp at the thighs, but they both know Derek’s going to let her slide onto his lap, anyway.  She gives Stiles a long kiss before she settles with her butt on Derek’s thighs and her calves on Stiles’, tilting so she can rest in Derek’s arms and kiss him until they’re breathless.  

Derek always forgets how good it feels, kissing her.  He always remembers it’s something he loves and wants it when she’s away.  But when he has her there on top of him, scent warm and surprisingly sweet as she presses her soft, full lips against his, it’s like air has been breathed back into his lungs.  She’s guiding and gentle with him in a way no one else would ever expect, in a way that very few have ever been with Derek.  She takes him by the hand and kisses him until he melts, pulling away to shoot him a gorgeous, bright smile.  

He loves her, would marry her in a heartbeat, even has rings tucked away.  They’re in his shaving kit, but now that she’s home, he’ll have to move them somewhere else.  Braeden will be not so subtly hinting within a few days that his stubble has grown too long because she likes helping him trim it down, hands steady as she holds the trimmer close to his face and reminds him to be still.  It’s hard to with her hands gentle against his cheek, with her eyes narrowed in focus.  

Braeden will probably be in the beard care drawer of their bathroom, so the rings are going to have to move.  He hates finding new hiding places, and it’s always tempting to take a risk, to just… not hide them again.  To let her and Stiles see them, to get down on one knee.

He wants to.  He already knows he wants his future with them, that no matter where they are, he wants to be with the two of them.  With Stiles’ abrupt, shocked laugh and his sentences that stretch on until Derek could live inside them.  With Braeden’s gentle, steadying hands and quiet, proud smiles.  He loves them both, anchors himself in his love for them.  

But he tucks the rings someplace safe, for another time.  Soon.  Just not yet.  

That night, they sleep, the bed finally full again, like it is meant to be.  They’re all worn down.  Derek is the first to wake up in the morning, though, and he lies there, reveling in the way their scents mingle together.  The sheets will smell of Braeden until she leaves again, the smell slowly fading until they can’t put off laundry anymore.

It’s easy to get lost in how they fit together, and Derek is surprised when Braeden touches his shoulder.

“Morning,” she whispers, voice rough.  Derek wants to press against her, to hold her close and never let go, wants to someday be able to revel in the luxury of waking up with Braeden next to him not being  _new_.  It still catches his heart in his throat, fills him up with softness and love that he knows she can see written on his face, clear as day.  

“Morning,” he whispers back, and she kisses his cheek.

When Stiles finally wakes, Braeden and Stiles put Derek between them, Stiles sliding inside of Derek and Braeden riding Derek’s cock.  Derek faces Braeden, puts his hands on any skin he can reach, the curve of her hips and the softness of her breasts, the solid weight of her thighs.  After, they spend ages swapping kisses before Stiles starts to rub at the dried come on Derek’s skin, and Braeden drags them off to the shower.

* * *

 

“How long are you staying this time?” Stiles asks, his voice echoing against the tile in the bathroom, the stillness pronounced now that the shower is off.

“As long as you want,” she says.

“Forever, then,” Stiles says.

Derek agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
